


Show Me...?

by helena_s_renn, Helenas_bitch, orphan_account



Series: Teh Winchesters [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Preseries, Teenage Winchesters, Underage Sex, Wet Dream, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-17
Updated: 2012-12-29
Packaged: 2017-11-28 00:55:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/668420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helena_s_renn/pseuds/helena_s_renn, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Helenas_bitch/pseuds/Helenas_bitch, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Newly adolescent Sam wakes up with questions. Dean is willing to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sam was having a nice dream. He couldn't say what it was, but it sure felt good, and there was this stirring in his lower body...

He let out a mewl of joy as a wave of pleasure flooded through his body, starting in his groin and rapidly spreading. Another wave crashed over him, and another one. It was feeling incredible and was getting better with every passing second...

"Nnnnnuuuugh..." The sound broke from his throat and his eyes flew open.

* * *

It was pitch black in their shared room. He and Sam almost always shared a room, and sometimes a bed, in the run-down dives and squats they nearly always camped out in. Their current location was a two-bedroom old house in a seedy area near the edge of town. It did have working electricity and plumbing, so at least they could cook and wash. There wasn't much for street lights, and Dean's inner calendar told him there was only a sliver of moon, which had set hours ago. 

In the other twin bed, Sam moved restlessly. He had made some noise seconds ago, which had been enough to jolt Dean out of a light sleep. He lay there, eyes open, listening to his younger brother's erratic respirations. Didn't seem to be any sort of illness or full-blow nightmare. Just as Dean was drifting off again, Sam's movements turned rhythmic, and he groaned. Yes, definitely groaned. Dean couldn't help grinning to himself – he knew what that all meant. 

When he'd been Sam's age or younger, he'd had almost nightly erotic dreams, too, most of which with the inevitable happy ending in his sleep. For all that Sam's brain was far advanced – clearly his sheer IQ outstripped either Dean or their father – his physical development hadn't started until the past couple of months, with a growth spurt that left all his jeans several inches short and his voice cracking. Dean's senses went on high alert again when Sam awoke with a start.

* * *

Panting, Sam sat up in his bed. His lower body was still throbbing with pleasure, but somehow he wasn't sure if this was a good thing after all. He bit his lip nervously as he lifted the blanket and his hands discovered that there was a sticky mess covering his prick in his pajama pants.

OK, so Sam had read about puberty and all, and he knew that this was supposed to happen eventually, but it was still a very different thing to have it happen to yourself. Or maybe it wasn't what was supposed to happen but he was sick?

Only one way to find out. As much as Sam sometimes wished he were the older of the two brothers, in this situation he found it very comforting to have Dean close by. His brother could be a real jerk, but whenever Sam needed him, Dean was there. He slid out of his bed and approached his brother's. 

"Dean? Um, are you awake?" Sam whispered, suddenly half hoping and half dreading that Dean would wake up. What if this was normal, after all?

* * *

Dean sat up in bed. "Yeah, Sammy. I'm up." Sam was standing by his bed now. Although Dean could still see very little, the boy's posture seemed tentative. There was a sharp scent of sweat, almost like fear-scent, coming off Sam, and, Dean detected, the tang of warm semen. It seemed like he'd spent a significant portion of his life covering the same, on his own account. 

It was kind of odd, that Sam would approach him at such a time. "What is it, Sam?"

* * *

"Umm, err..." Sam was glad that there wasn't much light in the room. He was sure he was blushing all over the place, but at least Dean couldn't see how flushed he was. Suddenly, he didn't want to speak to Dean any longer. He'd go to the library and read up on this...

Despite the darkness, he could feel Dean's intent eyes on him. He gathered up his courage and winced at the squeaky sound of his voice.

"Dean, I... think I may be sick..."

* * *

Sick? So that was what Sam thought? Dean rolled his eyes in the dark. As smart as Sam was, Dean was somewhat dubious about his reaction. He must be embarrassed, then. Dean could remember the first time it had happened to him, praying that his dad wouldn't notice, going so far as volunteering for laundry duty. 

"You're not sick, Sam. At least, I don't think so." Dean tried to sound reassuring. He almost wanted to laugh, but if his kid brother trusted him enough to come to him with this, then he'd better play the part of wise elder brother. "Tell me what's going on."

* * *

Telling Dean what was going on was exactly what Sam had hoped to avoid. Of course, if Dean were to help him, he'd have to know what was going on, but as ridiculous as Sam knew this was, he wanted the answer without having to ask the question.

He was still standing beside Dean's bed with his messy pajama pants and bare feet, squirming.

"I, um, think I might have peed myself," he began, breaking into a sweat. "It just isn't, you know..."

* * *

"Just isn't...? Huh." Dean knew the feeling, of course. He couldn't help winding Sam up a little. "Let me guess. You had a nice dream. A, uh, _very_ nice dream, maybe with a hot chick in a red leather miniskirt?" 

Sam's version of hot chick was probably a Puritanical librarian complete with horn-rimmed glasses, but Dean left that alone. Most of his such dreams were about moody men with fox-eyes, broad shoulders, and long hair. He almost never got to kiss them, let alone fuck them, despite more intensely yearning feelings than he'd imagined ever happened in daylight. "...And then you woke up with a sticky mess in your pants."

* * *

Sam's mouth fell wide open and his eyes narrowed. They were hunters – or in Sam's case, possibly future hunters – which meant that he knew about a lot of supernatural phenomena. However, Dean was apparently able to read Sam's mind. How else would he know about the dream and the mess in his pants? Sam didn't understand the red leather miniskirt reference, but truth be told, he didn't remember much of his dream, so maybe Dean was right there, too.

It was a scary thought. In particular that Dean may be aware how much Sam admired his older brother's body, always lurking by the bathroom door hoping to catch a glimpse. Another thought hit him. What if he'd been dreaming of Dean and Dean knew about it? 

He took a shuddering breath. This couldn't be happening. They were humans, not monsters. There was only one way to find out how Dean knew about the dream and the... rest.

"How... how did you know?"

* * *

For a minute or two, Sam said nothing, as if he were turning what Dean said over in his mind. But his reply was, again, not quite sensical: _"How did you know?"_

"Well, I'm a guy. And I'm older than you. C'mon Sammy... It's happened to us all," Dean told him. He was starting to feel like the high school Sex Ed teacher. "Do I need to explain it to you? You've read about it, haven't you?" He reached out and took Sam by the arm, his estimation correct as to where it would be. He patted the bed with his other hand, and slid back, making room. "Sit down. Don't feel weird about it. Okay, not _too_ weird. It means you're becoming a man."

That was weird in its own way, that soon Sam would not be a kid anymore, but an adult. He'd always just been Dean's kid brother. Someday he'd go out, kiss someone, get laid, maybe even fall in love... Dean was almost jealous of those future people. 

* * *

Sam felt stupid as he heard Dean's reply. Of course, Dean was older than Sam, and of course, he was a man. That was one of the reasons why Sam was asking for his advice.

Then, Dean indicated Sam sit on his bed, taking his arm. Immediately, Sam felt grounded. Being close to Dean always helped, whether it was nightmares or an upset stomach. Dean hadn't touched him as much recently, and Sam only now realized how much he'd missed it. Right now, Dean's hand made him feel safe. It also conveyed an invitation to ask and the promise that Dean wouldn't make fun of him – not too much, anyway.

"I've read about it," he said, "and I think I know what it is, but... Dean, didn't you feel weird when..." 

The thought that Dean had experienced this incredible feeling himself, made Sam's dick twitch. It felt good, but why would thinking of Dean cause this reaction?

"Would you... tell me about when it happened to you?"

* * *

It had been on the tip of Dean's tongue to tell Sam anyway, so it was almost a natural continuation of what he'd already said. "I was 12, I guess. I could have a boner before that, of course, but I'd never... Come off. Can't remember which town anymore, but one of them where we had our own rooms. Dad was around, in fact he was awake, reading in the kitchen when I woke up... Like you just did. I never said anything. But I suppose he knew." Dean's upper lip curled back slightly. The implications of that... Yuck. 

"It still happens sometimes. But not so much anymore. Probably getting older is part of it, and... I, uh... I take care of things. You know." Dean huffed. He might as well be forthright. "I jack off. When I can. Which isn't always easy with you and Dad around." He fell silent, wondering if Sam had a similar admission for him. Maybe it was perverted, but he almost wanted to hear about it. But Sam didn't answer right away and Dean noticed something else. "You're shivering. You cold?"

* * *

Now that Dean mentioned it, Sam noticed that he was shivering, too. He wasn't sure if it was from cold, though. He felt – weird. When Sam had been very young, Dean had always been there for him, but moments of closeness like right now had become increasingly rare over the years. Dad often took Dean with him whenever he went on a hunt and Sam was used to spending a lot of his time alone, in particular the nights. In fact, he couldn't even remember the last time when they'd sat together like this, in the darkness, with Dean's reassuring hand on his arm.

A warm feeling spread through him at the thought, and he knew that he wasn't shivering from the cold then. Sam pondered what Dean had just told him – not only about the first time he'd such a... reaction, but also what he did to avoid it. The warm feeling in Sam's body turned to heat, especially in his groin. Suddenly, he wanted to know more. And then...

"You needn't protect me, you know?" Sam whispered, holding his breath. "I mean, I'm okay with you..." 

It was so wrong, but Sam couldn't keep from bursting out, "Would you show me?"

* * *

Of course, Sam sidestepped his question about being cold, and what came out of his mouth next threw Dean's brain into a state of confusion. Protect Sam? Well, he'd been protecting and watching out for Sam since he was a baby. 

"Protect you how? Talk sense, Sam. You're safe right here, now. And... I mean. I'm always going to look out for you, little brother." Dean licked his lips. That was maybe something of a pat answer. Plus, Sam had spit out something else for him to address: _"...Show me."_

The meaning could only mean one of two things. Either Sam wanted to watch Dean beat off, or else he wanted Dean to teach him how to do it for himself. There had been no question of 'how' in Dean's case. It was as natural as breathing. So it had to be... Shit, why was he suddenly hard? Even in the dark, Dean worried that Sam would catch the hitch in his breath and understand what it meant. But Sam, it appeared, was so totally naive. It would be better to just play dumb and hope that either Sam would chicken out, or that he meant something else entirely. 

"It's really dark Sam, what am I supposed to show you?" Dean asked. He wished he could bleach his brain clean of the thoughts he'd just had. And as an afterthought, he went on in a semi-pissy tone, "For Pete's sake, you're still shivering. Get back in bed or grab a blanket." 

* * *

"Um, uh..." Sam hemmed and hawed. "What I meant... Of course I know that you've always protected me – _are_ always protecting me," he tried to stall. "Dean, I can't tell you how much I..." The word 'love' was on his tongue, but it would sound awkward. "I'm grateful for that. I mean it, Dean. You're like a..." _father?_ What was wrong with him? Wrong foot again. "Uh, like... as perfect as a big brother could ever be..." 

He reached for Dean's hand on his arm and squeezed it. Another hot flush ran through his groin at the thought that Dean touched himself, 'jacked off', with this hand... 

He was saved from the thought by Dean's command to get back in bed or grab a blanket. Was this an invitation to join Dean in his bed? Sam didn't linger, considered it best to jump at the opportunity before his courage fled. He wiggled under his brother's blanket as close to Dean as he could get. "Thanks."

If Dean was surprised or annoyed, he didn't show it. Neither did he say anything. When the silence became uncomfortable, Sam bit his lip, trying to put into new words what he had already tried to express earlier.

"What I meant with you don't have to protect me is that, um, you know, when you said it isn't always easy with me or Dad around... I'm fine with it, with you..." Again, Sam was glad that it was dark, so Dean couldn't see him blush. Then, the slightly unsettling thought occurred to him that, given how close Sam was to Dean in his bed, his brother might be able to perceive the heat from Sam's flushed face. However, he couldn't bring himself to move away.

Also, hadn't Dean just referred to the darkness himself? Another question that Sam suddenly wasn't too eager to elaborate on. He squirmed a little. 

"Show me, like, you know?" 

Dean could be so thick sometimes!

* * *

It sounded like a bad case of hero-worship to Dean. He wasn't sure if he liked it. Till now he'd been aware of it, only it had always been unspoken. "Aw, Sam! Shut up, you're embarrassing me. And I am not, repeat, not perfect."

Sam squeezed Dean's hand and crawled under the covers with him. Oh, Jesus. There was Dean with his hard-on. He shifted so _that_ would be nowhere in Sam's vicinity. In a twin bed, that wasn't easy. Sam's warm body made it worse. Dean craved contact, warmth – it was why he was always chasing tail. 

His eyes nearly popped from his head when Sam told him he was 'okay with it'. In other words, Sam was trying to say that if Dean needed to let out the poisons, take himself in hand, _masturbate_ , he didn't have to hide it from Sam. The thought of whacking it in the shower with Sam just outside... Dean felt the first drop of pre-cum ooze out of his slit. 

_"Show me, like, you know."_ That was twice now. Dean didn't know what to make of it, even though Sam's voice was giving him that, 'Jeez you're stupid' edge. 

"I... Still don't know exactly what you're asking for." Which was to say, "And, Sam, do YOU even know what you're asking for? We're brothers!" 

* * *

"Sorry. I didn't mean to embarrass you, just trying to tell you that I really appreciate having you watch over me," Sam nudged Dean's ribs with his elbow in what he hoped was a 'manly' gesture. "Seeing that I never thank you for that..." he shrugged, feeling a little embarrassed now.

Well, he was about to feel much more embarrassed as soon as Dean figured out what Sam wanted him to do. Dean's affirmation that they were brothers made this sound like an indecent proposal, but even if he retracted his question, Dean would probably try to get it out of him.

Sam sighed, unintentionally leaning closer to the warm body at his side. It was something Dean would do every time Sam tried to bottle something up: whenever little Sam had been upset, it had inadvertently led to nightmares. Dean had eventually resorted to forcing Sam to speak about such things, and it helped. Sometimes Sam wished that Dean would open up to him about his fears, too, but so far it had never happened. 

Sighing again, Sam knew that he would tell Dean what he had in mind. There was a tiny spark of hope that Dean would trust him enough to do it. Then again, it was also possible that he'd get a punch in the ribs and that would be it. Still, Dean was being so nice to him right now that it might actually work.

"Dean," he began, "please don't get this wrong..." Okay, that wasn't exactly the best start, but once he'd opened his mouth, he ploughed on. "What I asked you to show me..." He took a deep breath. "How do you do it?" Suddenly, Sam's voice was hoarse. "Jacking off, I mean..."

Sam ducked his head and waited for the blow.

* * *

Dean's jaw dropped open, and he was glad that Sam couldn't see what was sure to be a stupid expression. Show him? How he...? It wasn't any less dark, for one thing. But he supposed they could turn on the light. He almost felt sick to his stomach, not from disgust but a sort of nervous anticipation. 

"Let me get this straight. You want to watch me... jack my shit? Are you nuts?!" Dean swallowed hard and squirmed under the covers. He moved his hand stealthily to his cock, not around it, but over it through his pajama bottoms. There was a wet spot the size of a quarter already. _Please, please, please let him back off_ , Dean prayed. This was far outside the league of big brotherly behavior. 

But then, he hadn't kicked Sam out of his bed, had he? Maybe he should. But Sam was... Scared, or confused, or just needing comfort. Dammit. "Why, Sam? Why would you want me to do that?" He decided to up the ante. "Can't be any different than when you do it."

* * *

Sam cringed. Yes, maybe he was nuts, but now that he'd come so far as to actually asking Dean, he wouldn't go back.

"I want... because..." he stammered. "I dunno if it'd be any different from when I do it 'cos I've never done it before and I've no clue how to do it."

Hell yes, he was thirteen and Dean often called him a nerd because he always had his nose in a book, but there were things which books didn't tell you about. In particular, not books a librarian would give out to the child that he was in their opinion.

"Dean, I've never done this, and the idea of it happening again freaks me out." Sam swallowed. Sitting so close to his brother had a very uncanny effect on him as it made his prick tingle in the same pleasant way as in his dream. No way was he ever going to sleep again! If Dean didn't want to reveal how he dealt with this situation...

"Umm..." Sam's ears were close to combustion with embarrassed heat. "If you don't want to, you know, show me how you do it, uh, on you, umm..." His voice sunk to a barely audible whisper. "Maybe... can you still help me to get rid of... _this?"_

* * *

Dean couldn't help thinking that his brother was such a total virgin, even in his mind. Sam had just insinuated that he was hiding a boner as well. No wonder he was so warm under there. The kid had never touched himself? Ever?! Even as a little boy, Dean had occasionally played with his ding-a-ling, as he remembered calling it when he was maybe five or six, in bed at night. It would swell up and bounce, and he thought it was funny and it felt kind of good. Later, he got real erections; sometimes they'd take forever to go down, and a few months after that, he'd first come off in his sleep. After that, well. Not all of his calluses were from handling firearms, shovels, and wrenches.

"Uh... Sam, that's kind of private, you know? Or I wouldn't have been hiding it all these years." But on the other hand, if he acted like there was something wrong, something perverse, about the act, Sam might be ashamed of his body or about sex. Most girls he'd met (not the ones he went out with) were like that, which was the last thing he wanted for his brother.

"I... I, dunno." Dean took a deep breath. His cock was so incredibly hard now, his balls tightening. Just the thought of _showing_ Sam was so wrong. But why? Dad had never told him so, had never talked to him about anything like this. Dean knew that siblings, cousins, or close relatives didn't date, couldn't get married. Their kids turned out retarded, was one reason. But he and Sam... They were both male, for one thing. And this wasn't dating. 

"Seriously, dude, never? When I was your age, I was involved in an intense, explicit affair with my right hand." Something flipped in his mind. He could tell, somehow, that Sam was about to burst into apologies or even tears. No, Dean couldn't have that. He would take care of Sam, just like always. "But, fine. I'll show you how I do it. Just this once. So, you make sure that you learn... whatever it is you don't know. Got it?" 

Learn what, Dean couldn't say. Probably his last brain cell, and his last moral, had just died. "I suppose you should turn on the light. So that you can see." 

Dean was the last person in the world to be shy, yet he was, in the last second. While he'd had plenty of sex, no one had ever asked him for this before. He'd never touched himself in front of another person. And he wanted Sam's experience to be perfect. Whatever that meant.

* * *

Sam hung his head at Dean's reply that this was 'private'. Of course it was. Sam didn't want anyone to know about what had happened to him – except for Dean, whom he could always ask for help. So why hadn't he thought of this before, that his brother would also want to keep this private?

When Dean told him that he'd had an 'affair' with his right hand at Sam's age, Sam felt stupid. Why hadn't he even attempted what Dean had obviously and immediately figured out himself? He bit his lip and nodded, forgetting that Dean couldn't see him in the darkness. It was clear that he'd gone too far.

Suddenly, Sam felt miserable. His body was still throbbing and he had no idea what to do about it. He'd made Dean, his beloved brother, uncomfortable, and he wasn't sure if this would go away in the morning. In other words, total defeat. Lost in these downcast thoughts, he almost missed Dean's next words.

_"I'll show you how I do it. Just this once. So, you make sure that you learn... whatever it is you don't know. Got it?"_

Sam's mouth went dry and his dick twitched. "You will?" he blurted out and his heart skipped a beat. His hands were shaking as he fumbled for the light switch. 

Dean looked as flushed as Sam felt. The tingling in his groin grew stronger, and although it felt amazing Sam wasn't sure this was a good thing. Dean was his brother, after all. Well, he should have thought this through, a voice in his head said. 

"I... thank you," Sam said, clueless as to why his mouth was suddenly so dry. "I owe you big for this."

* * *

"You don't owe me, and don't thank me yet," Dean stated dryly. He squinted in the sudden blinding light of the table lamp next to the bed. Beside him, Sam was practically vibrating. All of a sudden, it was much too hot under the blankets. Dean tossed them back. 

So he was really going to do this. Dean closed his eyes for a long moment. He couldn't look at Sam right now. Wiggling onto his back, he lifted his hips and shoved his pajama pants down to his knees. Cold air hit the exposed skin, rustled the hairs, but it didn't phase him; he was hard as nails and only a kick in the balls or getting off would do anything about that. 

Without speaking, Dean reached down and wrapped his hand around his cock, just below the head, and gave it a firm squeeze. He could almost feel his brother's eyes on him. If he'd wanted to, he could probably have made himself cum in ten seconds. "I'm used to doing this fast, so I don't get caught," he whispered. "I'll try to slow it down." 

It wasn't going to be easy to do that. His pelvis jerked to meet the downward stroke of his fist. Again, Dean made himself stop. Any loose skin was pulled taut, all the nerve endings screaming for contact. Pre-cum smeared the reddened head, and Dean flicked his thumb through the slick, spreading his legs. The one on Sam's side fell onto him, but Dean couldn't be bothered to move it away. 

"Talk to me, Sammy," he groaned. "Go on, tell me what... what you wanna know." Maybe that would distract him enough to not spill immediately. He stroked himself once, then again. The little veins along his shaft fluttered wildly, and he needed to soothe the ache so bad. 

* * *

Sam gasped when Dean pushed the blanket and his boxers down. The size of him! And the smell! His nostrils widened as all his blood seemed to rush downward, and he moaned at the unexpected sensation.

"You're... big," he stammered. When Dean gave himself the first squeeze, Sam thought he'd swoon. His whole body was throbbing now, yearning for something he wasn't sure he could put into words. 

He watched, mesmerized, as Dean slowly stroked himself, as fluid trickled from his slit and Dean smeared it around. Dean's leg pressed against Sam's, and he could feel shivers running through his brother's body.

Sam's breathing hitched together with Dean's. He was sure he was hard now, too, but didn't dare to touch and confirm. Instead, he wished that Dean would touch him and stroke him the way he did it to himself right now. 

Then, Dean moaned and asked Sam to talk to him, tell him what he wanted – no, Sam corrected himself, not what he wanted, but what he wanted to _know_. He bit back that he wanted Dean to touch him, wanted to know how Dean's hand would feel on him... Well, there was one thing he could ask that might come close.

"Describe to me how it feels?"

* * *

Dean was not unaware of how Sam had gasped when he first exposed himself, nor the subtle writhes of his wiry body. Yes, Dean probably would look big to him, as Sam had only just recently hit his growth spurt and Dean's cock was as raging hard as it got before he reached the point of no return. The compliment still gave him a warm wave of affection. They could discuss dick size later in detail; for now, Dean could only manage a hissed, "So I've heard... Thanks." 

Sam hesitated when told to ask any questions. If he waited too long, it might all be over! _Describe to me how it feels?_ Groaning, mouth open, Dean arched his back. That was a question? He'd thought it would be some scientific, fact-based logical query, not... All the people he'd ever been with had been there to get off, just like he'd been. Only two or three had been anything close to inexperienced and they still knew what they wanted. And why, obviously. How could Dean even put it into words? But he had to try, for Sam.

He let out a shivery breath. "It just feels. So damn good, Sam... Beyond awesome. Like..." Dean stroked himself steadily, "like something's going to explode." He thrust up just a little, made himself stop. "Mmmmmm, god... I just wanna fuck, y'know? This is... Takes its place. It's like, every drop of blood is here." Dean spit into his hand and regripped himself, stroking from base to head with a slight twist. "My balls get so full. Heavy. They hurt, when I can't for a while..." His voice wavered and he moaned again. "And they hurt now... Wanna cum soon... Gonna be so sweet, Sam..." 

That was new. Dean had never said anything during sex, beyond a few expletives. Now he was babbling on and on. Somehow, it took the edge off, if only a little, and made the intensity even greater. "What else? What, Sam?" 

* * *

Seeing Dean stroke himself was an incredible turn-on. Sam had always thought that he'd have a physical reaction, eventually, when he was older, but to the sight of women, their 'racks' and 'butts', that Dean so frequently raved about. Instead, it was his brother's body that made his dick twitch hard now.

Oh yes, he could relate to Dean's description: damn good, beyond awesome, every blood drop down there, balls so full they hurt. That was what he was feeling, too. And when Dean told him he wanted to cum soon, a shiver of delight ran through Sam's body. Yes, he wanted that, too! Only he didn't have the courage Dean had. Sam let out a frustrated growl.

Then, Dean prompted him to ask for something else. With his blood pooling in his groin, Sam couldn't come up with another question. Although there was an infinite list of things he wanted to know, short of crawling into Dean's body, he couldn't get an answer to them. Hell, he wanted to feel what Dean felt in this moment!

Dean was looking at him with fire in his eyes – and need of a kind Sam had never seen before. The green irises were nearly swallowed up by his widened pupils. Suddenly, Sam wanted nothing more than to make this good – sweet, as Dean had said – for his brother. Maybe if he told Dean what he felt...

"Uh-huh," he began. "It's like, my prick is heavy, and I want, need to rub it against something..." He tightened his thighs, gasping at the sensation the move caused.

 _I want to rub it against you,_ he thought, but Sam knew he'd never say this out aloud.

* * *

Oh, hells! Sam admitted to knowing the same feelings. Dean thought he couldn't be totally ignorant, either that or he was getting one hell of an education right fucking now. He could sense the frustration coming off Sam, could feel him tightening up right there next to him. The kid needed it as bad as he did. Dean's belly dived deliciously at the thought of Sam touching himself and he pushed up into the circle of his fist again. He'd only been with a couple of guys, when there'd been no women around to pick up. There hadn't been sex, just hand jobs, but he wasn't adverse to the idea of more. Pleasure was pleasure. His brother needed to know that, too. 

"You need friction, Sam. Either turn over and hump the mattress or..." Dean's breath came so short he could barely get the words out, "you can rub up against me. If you want." 

He only hoped Sam would do something soon, or talk more to level him off. He flipped onto his left side, facing Sam, a grunt escaping with the effort. Removing his hand from his cock was a battle of wills, but rolling his tight, stinging balls, massaging them down a little, was almost as good. 

Sam's eyes were trained on his groin. "C'mon..." Dean was beginning to get the taste in the back of his nose and mouth that meant he was about to lose it. He fought to keep it back, taking his hand entirely off himself. "It's OK, Sam. If you need to get off, too..."

* * *

Sam's breathing hitched again when Dean rolled onto his side and began fondling his balls. They were larger than his, and drawn up close to his brother's body. He could almost taste Dean's need, what with the scent of sex and male sweat that was coming off Dean. 

His eyes widened at Dean's suggestion to hump the mattress, but he immediately shook his head. This would be too much like what had happened in his dream earlier. Then, Dean offered that Sam could rub against him, and Sam couldn't hold back a moan, but, no, he couldn't... right?

Dean was encouraging him, telling him it was okay, hell, he was almost _begging_ him... Maybe Dean needed Sam to get off – they shouldn't really do this, so maybe Dean didn't want to be the only one?

Dean's eyes burned into his, but Sam couldn't... 

Panting, he pressed out hoarsely, "No, not like that. Wanna watch you. Need to watch you get off, Dean..."

* * *

Dean was shaking with need now. So close! In the chilly air, his nipples had pulled into two tiny pink buds, pinched little aroused bits of flesh. His hole clenched, not that he knew what to do about it; it just deepened the crazy rush. He wouldn't push Sam into something he wasn't ready for, wouldn't ask him for more than he could give. Right now, that was just watching. Some people enjoyed that all the time; Dean had heard the term 'voyeur'. Maybe Sam was like that. It was as if he were drinking Dean, or licking him, with his eyes.

It was just too much. He needed this. Sam refused to come closer, plaintively asking again that Dean _show him_ how he brought himself off. Flopping onto his back, Dean gave in to his body's demands and wrapped his fingers around the steel curve of his erection again, sighing in something like relief at the touch. He squeezed his eyes shut tight. In the rhythm he'd perfected so many times, Dean thrust into his fist. After that first slide, he stopped restraining himself, and just fucked, never mind it wasn't a person but only his own hand. There, it was so good, hips bounding, moaning, licking his own lips and snarling for release. Dean's whole body tensed, riding the edge, free hand pulling at the sheets, toes digging in, gritting his teeth. 

His balls broke their hold and pumped cream into a high arch that splattered warm on his chest. One powerful spasm after another wracked through Dean. He jerked it again and again as more seed spurted from him, groaning with the abject relief of it. "Oh... My... Sammy...!" he keened, as his vision turned hazy white behind his wet eyelids. Then it seemed like everything was cramping, his abdominal muscles and his calves, even his feet. 

It was over. His erection faded and Dean went slack, lying there, torso covered in his own cum. His balls, tender and raw, dropped down into his sac. "Mother of god," Dean moaned. He was staring blankly at the ceiling, and he could feel Sam's pointed eyes still on him, his brother's body just as tense as before.

* * *

Sam's mouth hung open. Never had he seen anything so beautiful than his brother in this... bliss. Dean's eyes were screwed shut as he pulled and squeezed his dick to the point where Sam wondered if it wouldn't hurt, but he could feel that it was exactly what his brother needed. 

Dean let out raw-sounding moans and keens, his body tightening almost impossibly, then he called Sam's name as a fountain of white fluid shot from him. Sam watched in awe as Dean's body went limp with – exhaustion? – and struggled for breath: covered in his semen, Dean's chest was raising and falling quickly, and Sam could see the rapid pulse in his neck. 

Sam was struggling for breath, too. The need in his groin was overwhelming, and he wanted what Dean had just had. It felt as if he wouldn't survive if the pressure in his lower body wasn't released soon, but he was still scared to touch himself down there.

"I... You..." Sam whispered as he tried to figure out what to do. Without being aware of it, his hand reached out to Dean's chest and circled a nipple, scooped up some of the creamy goo with his fingers. Sam only noticed what he was doing when he put the finger into his mouth and licked at the pearly liquid, closing his eyes in rapture at the taste.

When he opened them again, Dean was staring at him and the pressure in his balls hadn't lessened; if anything it had become worse. Sam was getting desperate.

"Dean, please, I need your help," he moaned. "Would you... touch me?"

* * *

As he lay there in the afterglow, panting from the strength of his orgasm, Dean felt fingers touch his chest, his nipple. Oh god, what was Sam doing? When he turned his head to check, Dean was just in time to see Sam scoop up some of his goo with the side of his finger and lick it off. Had he ever seen anything so sexy, from anyone? Only watching himself being sucked compared. 

And Sam was still fidgeting beside him. Dean realized the dire straits his brother was in. Four years wasn't such a long remove. If Sam didn't pull out his dick and stroke himself soon, he was going to cum in his pants again – awake this time. That was almost too much humiliation for anyone. Sticky with his own splashes of semen, Dean ignored the itch when Sam looked at him so intensely, so earnestly, and begged for his help. 

Hadn't Dean just helped? Jerked off in front of him, like he'd asked? What could he... Oh. Dean's fried synapses pieced it together. Sam wanted... needed... Dean to do it for him. Needed to Dean to put hands on him and help... 

"Oh, Sammy..." Dean reached under the blanket carefully. Sam was wound so tightly, he'd likely jump out of his own skin if Dean did anything sudden. There... There was Sam. He was skinny with new growth and youthfulness, but under his pajamas, his skin was soft and firm, muscles beginning to form across his chest and abdomen. Dean didn't think his brother could last long, and so he went almost right away to his pajama bottoms, untying the drawstring and sliding his hand inside. The cloth was damp and sticky from Sam's earlier wet dream, but when Sam immediately pushed up at his hand Dean forgot everything but his fingers closing tightly around Sam's... Oh, shit, his brother's erection, and the look in Sam's eyes. They glowed like unholy fire, so needy. 

"I'll take care of you... Just let me..." Dean breathed. Inhaling deeply, he took in the scent of Sam's sex. Damned if he wasn't getting hard again. After a false start, Dean used the same stroke he used on himself, only it would be backward. There was a surge of heat and blood under his palm. "Does it feel good?" He was panting again, mouth half-open, needing Sam to get into it and finally, _finally_ give in to the release and the ecstasy. 

* * *

Whatever Sam had hoped for when he'd uttered his desperate plea, he hadn't expected Dean to respond by moving his hand straight into his pajama pants! His dick surged against Dean's warm and firm hand, and he groaned deeply.

"Dean... god... I..." Sam dug his hands into the sheets, his knuckles turning white as his body writhed and shook. The incredible feeling in his lower body was so strong now that he thought he'd explode any second. Then, Dean began to stroke him, gently at first, then as rough as he'd done it to himself, drawing a needy cry out of Sam's mouth. 

What he'd feared might be painful when he'd watched Dean only a minute ago brought him pleasure that he'd never have thought possible. 

_"Does it feel good?"_

Sam was beyond speaking. His balls were straining upward against his body, feeling at least twice their usual size. Then, there was this sweet but most disturbing tingling in and around his asshole, as if he needed touching there, too...

His eyes fell onto Dean's hand on him, and he let out another desperate groan as he saw his brother deftly working his foreskin – briefly distracted by the thought that Dean didn't have any, so how did he know that this would feel so good for Sam? The tip of his prick peeked through the ring made of Dean's fingers on every downstroke, and Sam couldn't help himself from thrusting into it. There was fluid leaking from his slit, and it felt so incredible that he thought for a moment that this was his release, although it had looked different when Dean had hit the peak.

The memory of the creamy substance shooting from his brother's slit made his balls surge. Sam's eyes rolled back in his head. The last thing he saw was the fierce expression on Dean's face as he squeezed his hand tighter. He heard a voice keening and moaning, and then his body spasmed and jerked as he erupted into pure bliss.

"Nhhhh... Nnnuuuhhh... Dean... Nnuuuughhhh..."

Something hot hit his chest and his face. His dick and hole were throbbing in rhythmic pulses of the most intense pleasure he'd ever known. Dean continued to work him, and he shuddered and groaned with each stroke, until it finally became too much and he tried to withdraw, but Dean kept going, a wide grin on his face.

"Nuh, Dean..."

* * *

Dean watched whatever he could, keeping the rhythm, then speeding faster. That's what he always needed, at the end. He had to make this good for Sam! The elasticity of the overlying skin was more than his, and there was a reason; he hadn't thought about Sam's foreskin being intact since he'd been out of diapers. Dean flexed his hand so that it slid up and back over the darkened head as he jerked. Sam's hips threw rabbity thrusts that met his fist every downstroke; he convulsed and yelled, and a fountain of white flew from his slit. He'd leaked pre-ejaculate like a sieve, making Dean's fingers wet with it; the amount of seed he spewed now left Dean awed. So much! Dean flexed his own hips, loving the show. 

"'Nuff, Sammy?" Dean asked. He was grinning like an idiot but couldn't stop himself. It wasn't malicious. He took joy in Sam's joy, and in the fact he provided it. Sam finally grabbed his wrist, over-sensitive, trying to say no but unable to form even that, so Dean loosened his grip and stopped stroking. "That was so fucking hot, Sam. Like you... I don't even know. Transformed. You looked like, glowing or something. You shot farther than me, too. Look." 

Dean had shoved Sam's pajama top up to his neck some time before, and the smooth skin below, darker than Dean's was streaked with semen, but there was even some dribbling from Sam's chin. It looked hot, and kind of adorable. Dean bent down and licked it off. Sam had tasted his spunk; it was only right to reciprocate. 

"I haven't cum so hard in a long time. It was awesome. What about you?" Dean found that despite the distinct taste, he was licking lower, cleaning Sam's throat, then his upper chest. He looked up, making sure Sam didn't want to escape, wasn't going to crack, but there was only keen interest, satisfaction, and longing in his brother's eyes. 

It took a while to lap it all up; Dean got distracted with Sam's dark-pink nipples, which were flatter than his, ringed with tiny bumps, but just as responsive. His whole torso was smooth and gently contoured, and trembled when Dean found a ticklish place under his ribs, or a hot spot in the hollow of his hipbone. His pubic hair had come in, short dark brown curls around the base of his cock though his balls were mostly still bare, and Dean licked there too, though the mess was already gone. "Love your taste. Your juice, and your skin. And, you're going to have a killer body, Sam, I can see it... You're going to get taller than me. Everyone's gonna want a piece of you." 

He shouldn't be saying these things. But he had, and all of it was true as far as Dean could tell.

* * *

Sam's body went slack when Dean stopped stroking him. His hands and feet were tingling, and the blood was roaring in his ears. He could only gape at his brother, completely overwhelmed by his orgasm. Sam found that he didn't like the word. As much as he'd read about this, it wasn't like anything he could ever have imagined. It was so much more than just something happening to his body, and the thought of doing this with a woman, a stranger... He didn't think he'd ever want anyone other than Dean share this with him.

Dean, who was grinning like a loon, praising him. It was obvious that his brother loved what he'd done. Now Dean licked at Sam's chin, then down his chest. Sam realized that he was lapping up his spunk, and he shuddered. It was weird; when he'd woken up, he'd considered the mess in his pajama pants gross, but the taste of Dean's seed was... he couldn't describe it, but he decided he liked it. The way Dean was licking along his body now told him his own wasn't disgusting either. He shivered with delight when Dean's tongue lapped at his nipple.

All the while, Dean kept talking to him, telling him how much he loved his body – and how gorgeous he was going to be. Sam wasn't sure he believed that, but it was clear that Dean was happy. Sam felt a surge of relief. After all, he'd more or less forced his brother into doing this. It was good to know that Dean didn't hold a grudge but was obviously enjoying it, too.

He felt warm and heavy, and – loved. Suddenly, Sam found it hard to keep his eyes open. He didn't want to fall asleep, didn't want to miss any of this, but apparently, his body had other ideas. Stifling a yawn, Sam turned on his right side and scuttled closer to his brother, then wrapped an arm around him to be even closer.

"Mmh, feels good," he sighed happily. " _You_ feel good, I mean... Love you, too..." 

The next yawn refused to be suppressed. When it was over, Sam rubbed his face against Dean's bare chest and kissed it. 

"Dean," he mumbled sleepily, "when you say that everyone's gonna want a piece of me... You're the only one I want to have me... not only a piece but all of me..."

* * *

Clearly Sam was stoned on the rush. He was all muzzy and pliant. Happy. And tired. After Dean finished cleaning him off – had he really done that? Licked his brother from chin to balls? – Sam wiggled onto his side and threw his arm over Dean, seconds from sleep. 

He began to babble as well, in a voice gone deeper with exhaustion. Must be a Winchester trait, Dean reflected. Said he loved Dean, which was nothing he didn't know, but it felt somehow different, certainly less platonic. And... He only wanted Dean, wanted Dean to have all of him...? That would likely change, either in the morning or in years to come. 

And, could Sam even know what that meant, 'all of me'? Sex between men, that was beyond his experience although he knew the basic mechanics. The thought of sinking into his brother's lithe body, Sam locking eyes with him, kissing him, screaming his release. Oh, god, he'd better not go there. Dean was still a mess from his own juice and throbbing again between his legs, but he let it lie, wiped his chest off quickly on his shirt, and tucked Sam into his body. In a way, he felt the sting of guilt for stealing something of Sam's innocence. He could honestly say, though, that Sam had been _too_ innocent for his own good and what had happened was a lesson. Under that, his feelings boiled hot, and they weren't so innocent, either. Sam arched up and keening as he let it go for the first time, Dean bringing him there one furious stroke at a time... It was a thing of beauty. He wanted to have that again, and more. For his own self as well as for Sam's relief. 

He didn't know what to say. Words were never his strong suit. "I've got you, Sammy." 

He just prayed that Dad would still be gone when they woke up. 

* * *

_"I've got you, Sammy."_

Could there be any more delightful words than Dean's? Sam didn't think so. Dean had just made a promise to him. Of what, Sam wasn't quite sure, but he knew that Dean would always be there for him. His warmth. His wit. His generosity. His laughter. And now his body, his scent, his strong hands...

Cradled in his brother's arms Sam felt safe. He could now sleep without nightmares or... _accidents_.

_"I've got you, Sammy."_

"I'm yours," Sam murmured against Dean's chest. "All yours..."


	2. Chapter 2

Being left to their own devices in a city wasn't all bad. Not for Dean. It was cold up North here. The snow, smog, the urban sprawl, the efficient and anonymous downtown press kept him hidden in plain sight. While Dad was off tracking down an alleged sighting of a family of yeti over the border, Dean lounged around a few of the more avant garde Internet coffee shops and after hours clubs. He'd heard those art chicks were freaky. 

There were plenty with colorful streaks on goth-black hair, heavy eyeliner, and combat boots, patchouli- and pot-scented. Strangely, what he'd actually pulled was a 17-year-old blond cheerleader from the suburbs named Dara. He had the feeling she zoned in on him in the spirit of asserting her adulthood, apart from yuppie parents and harmless after-school clubs. Fake ID or not, she was too wide-eyed and fresh-faced to be anything the kind of woman who was NOT his type. If she was chasing the bad boy stereotype, maybe he was after the good girl, something he thought he'd given up some years back. 

So, having spent an hour in at least passable conversation, against his own better judgment, Dean had agreed to meet up with her again the next day. She had balls, to do the asking, he gave her that. Nice tits, too, if not as large as his usual taste. The idea of her in a cheer skirt with spanky pants underneath was kind of a turn-on. After more coffee and a turn through the downtown mall, he asked her to The Orb, the club with the latest bands that was open till four, sure she'd blow him off, or start in about a curfew. She said yes. 

* * *

Sam had eaten and done the dishes after finishing with his homework. They'd stay in town for some time, and he was looking forward to attending the same school for a while. Even better, Dad had announced that he'd be gone for a few days, which meant that Sam and Dean would be on their own. 

Ever since Sam had confided his insecurity about his awakening sexuality to Dean, he wanted, needed to be close to his brother – even closer than before. Sam lived for the short moments of intimacy in the evenings when Dad was gone and Dean helped Sam with his needs. 

With Dad going away this morning on a yeti hunt, Sam couldn't believe his luck. He'd been daydreaming in school how he and Dean would spend the evening together, then sleep, in the same bed, and how he'd wake up in his brother's arms.

His dreams were shattered a minute ago when Dean had called and informed Sam that he'd be late. He didn't give a reason but the chatter in the background told Sam that most likely there was a girl involved. 

Sam knew he had no reason for this, but he felt betrayed and jealous of the unknown girl. Wasn't he making his brother happy? But of course, there were things he couldn't give Dean, things only a woman could give him. Things like... those he'd find in the porn magazine his buddy Tim had given him as a farewell present when they'd left the last town.

Biting his lip nervously, Sam went around the house and made sure that the salt lines were undisturbed and the front door locked. Then he changed into his PJ's, cleaned his teeth, and went to bed – _his_ bed, not Dean's. If his brother didn't want him, Sam could take care of himself now. He'd never done it, hadn't needed to with Dean's loving hands always eager to touch him and bring him pleasure, but he knew how it worked. 

With shaking hands, he reached under the mattress and fumbled for Tim's departure gift.

* * *

Before gassing up the Impala and heading to the club, Dean called Sam to let him know he'd be out that night. Dara wanted to go home and change clothes, and stupidly, Dean had offered to drive her – it was probably way out in the 'burbs somewhere. He'd just added to the stolen credit card bill, and he hit the ATM for good measure. 

It would be the first in a while that they hadn't been together some or all night, and he wasn't quite sure how he felt about that. There was something in Sam's voice that told Dean he wasn't thrilled, either. There were plenty of justifications for that, though – boredom, strange new place, Sam being his typical moody self... It was noisy along the interstate and Dara wanted his full attention so Dean hung up soon. 

And yes, the interior of the car was graced with feminine perfume and she was pretty. Dean hadn't been laid, not truly, in weeks. There'd been hunting and... Sammy. At over 13, he'd finally hit puberty – with all cylinders firing. He was shy, but at the same time, he'd been born knowing exactly how to manipulate Dean into giving him whatever he needed, and their little games were no different. If he didn't blow off some steam soon, Dean was afraid he'd get carried away one of these days and go too far with his little brother. Too far for which of them, he couldn't say. Sam.... In Dean's arms, sweaty and shaking, head thrown back and shooting his seed all over them in the deepest tremors of his fast, intense first climaxes were nothing less than addictive. 

Shit. Dean took a deep breath to inhale Dara's lighter pheromones again. He didn't know how he knew, but she smelled 'ready' to Dean. There was something hesitant about her as well, or she'd have had her face in his lap by now. That was fine. He liked the chase. And Dean could be gentle. Let her come to him. He smiled and laid a hand on her knee and faced the front, explaining why getting his GED made way more sense than the traditional route. 

* * *

The woman wore too much make-up and the size of her... _boobs_... Sam thought she looked gross. Also, the expression on her face... And the man... Sam couldn't help but compare him to Dean. The dishwater-colored hair and moustache hiding most of the face were no competition for his brother's dirt-blond short cut and fair complexion. Dean's light color and freckles spread down to his torso, his bare chest with the rosy nipples that tightened when he was aroused. The man in the magazine must be aroused, but Sam could hardly see his nipples under the abundant chest hair. Suddenly blushing although there was nobody there to see him, Sam turned to the next page. Why was he paying more attention to the man than to the woman? 

His eyes fell on the same couple, but in a different position: the first picture had the woman on her back with the man upright, penetrating her, and in this one, she was straddling him. In a next picture, the woman looked the same, only with a different hair color. The man was dark-haired and looked grim, and he wasn't in her, but ejaculating on her face. The next set of pictures had close-ups on... vaginas, and _things_ in them, a cucumber, a candle. Sam cringed. How was this supposed to be a turn-on?

Moving on, Sam's interest faded until he saw a woman on all fours and a man taking her from behind. His ears turned red. What had Tim said? This was how two _men_ did it, from behind, with one taking it up the ass. Something stirred in Sam's belly at the thought. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine that it was Dean with the woman, but all he could see was himself on all fours and Dean...

Sam whimpered, wishing his brother were here with him. He wanted Dean's hand on him, wanted to hear Dean's sharp gasps when he stroked himself, feel his brother shake when he released...

Nervously biting his lip, Sam slid his hand into his PJ pants, the porn mag forgotten. His fingers were greeted by dampness leaking from the tip of his prick. He played with his foreskin, peeling it back and up again, pretending it was Dean's hand doing it. It felt so good...

* * *

Everything went according to plan. The club was crowded and smoky, the band was heavy and loud, the beer was cold. There wasn't much room for talking; Dean wasn't much for dancing, so he kind of just stood in one place and moved his feet a little while Dara did her thing. The girl did know how to move her hips, that was for sure. Once Dean got a whiff of that, he couldn't stop picturing her riding him. He reached for her, pulled her back against him, let her feel... Dara turned around in his arms, eyes half-lidded with drink, lust, or both, and sucked on the side of Dean's neck, sharp teeth worrying a mark onto the thin skin while the bass thudded through them like sex itself. 

"Let's get out of here." Dean grabbed Dara's wrist and wound his way to the door, got his bearings, and started off down the street. 

There was really nothing more to say – in Dean's experience, everything up to that point had just been foreplay, anyway. The night was cold, it had snowed. Dara was in clothes too thin for such a night and all around, the sooner they got into the Impala, the better. 

"You could come home with me," he suggested. It was a lot closer than her suburban neighborhood. 

"Could you... Take me home?" 

Dean smirked. "What's in it for me?" 

Dara looked him up and down. "Maybe something. If you're nice." 

Baby came into view; Dean hurried to start her up. Once Dara was on the seat beside him, he took off immediately, heading west up the main bypass. 

"C'mon, don't be shy," Dean urged, holding up his arm for her to crawl under. After a minute, she pressed up against his side, running her fingertips over the side of his chest, down his stomach, but no further. Damned if he wasn't hard anyway, from earlier and the light teasing touches. If only she'd know to play with his nipple... Sam had figured that out the first time they'd... Dean shoved that out of his mind. 

After twenty minutes of that torture, Dean found a dead end not far from Dara's house and parked the car, leaving the motor running. His body was thrumming with arousal. "Alright..." They kissed and made out for an hour, every small step seeming to take an eon. Eventually, Dara was convinced to bare her breasts, which Dean rewarded her with by licking and suckling them as gently as she insisted. When he unzipped and took his cock out, Dean saw the fear in her eyes and knew that one, he wasn't getting laid after all and two, she was damn sure going to understand what she was missing. 

He hated blueballs worse than nearly anything. Dean was craving naked, wet, thrusting, _taking_ so bad, the primal urge to rut and cum so strong... And instead he urged Dara's black satin panties aside and licked into her slick folds, finding the hidden pearl and gave her what he could not have. Near the end, partly to help hold her still and partly so she would _know_ what her body needed, Dean slid two fingers inside and let her clench around them while she gasped and hid her face under her arm and bucked once, twice. After that, he nearly let it go in his pants, which were damp from hours of leaking pre-cum anyway, but he couldn't bear the thought. 

Five minutes later, he dropped her off. There was another girl he'd never see again. He bet she'd be a lot older before anyone gave her that again, too. 

The snow was coming down harder and the wind came up, and the roads were icy. It was almost an hour before he was letting himself into the apartment. Dean didn't want his brother to see him, reeking like smoke and pussy as he surely was. But... Sam was his responsibility, and Dean knew he should check on him. Say good night if he was still up. The light shining from the crack under Sam's door told Dean his brother was still awake. Unless he'd fallen asleep on a book again. 

Dean turned the knob and pushed open the door slowly, so it wouldn't creak. The sight that greeted him made his jaw drop. "Sam!!" 

* * *

Sam tried to make his strokes feel like Dean's, but something wasn't right. It felt good and he knew he'd soon reach his peak, but without Dean next to him, something was missing. Still, Dean wasn't here. He'd gone out to get laid, to have sex with a girl. Maybe right now Dean was making love to a girl...

It wasn't hard to imagine. The girl was faceless, but Sam visualized his brother on her, his hips thrusting while the rest of his body stilled as he approached orgasm. The scene changed as Sam stroked himself quicker, his breath hitching, and now Dean was behind the girl, kneeling between her thighs and entering her from behind. 

Suddenly, it wasn't enough. Sam let go of his prick and pushed his PJ pants and the blanket down, He reached for the second pillow, shoved it under his butt, bent his legs and planted his feet on the mattress. There was a puddle of pre-cum on his belly, which he swiped his fingers through before wrapping them around his dick and continuing stroking himself. 

His heart was racing as he thought he was getting close, and it took all his courage to summon the image in his head: Dean behind him, _taking_ him. Sam bit his lip so hard he drew blood as he reached behind himself and slid the tip of his middle finger over his hole. It fluttered under his probing, and he felt it drawing his finger in, until he pressed it in to the first knuckle.

"Dean, oh god, Dean..." Sam moaned, thrusting frantically into his hand and pushing back against his finger – _Dean's_ – in him. He saw his brother's face before him, rapt, on the verge of his climax. Dean's mouth was slightly opened and his eyes were wide with surprise and astonishment... 

Sam's sac tightened and his balls spewed, white fluid shooting from his slit in a pulsing rhythm that was matched by his hole, contracting around his finger. Just when he reached the peak, he thought he heard his brother's voice saying his name; then he was overwhelmed by the pleasure.

"Nnuuuhh... Dean!!! Nnnnnuuuughhh...."

* * *

He doubted Sam had heard him. White noise filled Dean's head, as he clung to the door frame, feeling like his retinas were going to be burned for all time with the image before him. Sam was writhing half-naked on his bed, jacking himself. The boy's eyes were closed tightly, his lips bitten and swollen, his skinny hips pitching as he called for... Oh, Christ, not wordless moans or on a deity, but _Dean's_ name, over and over. Well, that was all he'd ever known, so it made a twisted kind of sense. 

The built up pressure in Dean's balls nearly brought him to his knees. It hurt, not cumming for so long, and now with this... As much as he loved sex with women, this was so utterly compelling. Sinful. His dick throbbed hard in time with his thudding heart, so full that Dean quickly grasped himself through his jeans, pushing the cruel teeth of his zipper into thin, tight skin to keep from spilling. But he couldn't leave.

Watching Sam was a different kind of being-aroused than being there right with him, hand on his cock, helping him pull the release from his eager body. So far, Sam hadn't wanted to do it himself, perhaps out of embarrassment or – still – insecurities about his body. Apparently, this was no longer a problem. Nearby, abandoned, was a skin mag which looked like it had seen better days; the open pages showed a couple going at it doggy-style. Was this happenstance, or did Sammy get off on that? Needy whimpering noises that came out of him between repetitions of Dean's name, driven by...

Holy fuck, how had Dean missed that Sam was fingering himself? More than that, if the motion of his wrist had anything to say about it – he was _fucking_ his hole with the finger he'd just slicked with his own pre-cum. Sam was always wet with it as soon as he'd been hard for more than a few minutes, and now it was pooling on his stomach, a shimmery glare in the lamplight. The only thing that prevented Dean from not going into that room was the fact that he'd been with another earlier; he wasn't that low.

Despite not shying away from anything that would give him a sexual rush, Dean had never been remotely curious about 'back there'. But there was Sammy, his tiny ass raised up on a pillow, sinewy thighs spread wide, jabbing into his own fist... And back onto his hand. If he liked his own finger in his ass, would he like Dean's? Sam thrust up again, faster and faster till he keened Dean's name like he was dying, stilled, and spurted several white ropes of semen onto his chest and stomach. 

A second later, the scent of it hit Dean's nostrils and he had to get out of there. The signs he knew well were upon him, the tightness turning into breaking, control unravelled. He made it to the bathroom, started the shower with shaking hands. Frantically, he unbuckled his belt and pulled his cock out... Oh hell, he was already cumming. A streak of seed shot up the inside of his arm and the next landed on his shirt and the next fired wide and hit the sink. Dean managed to shove his jeans down past his hips with his off hand or he'd have made a worse mess. When the worst was over, he staggered back two steps and crashed against the wall, eyes glazed and blinking blearily, hands between his legs to catch the weak spurts that went on and on and on. 

What the hell was wrong with him? Friendly hand jobs were one thing, he'd resolved himself to that. Sammy needed help – Dean helped him. Simple. It was quite another to imagine oneself... He couldn't say it, not even in the private depths of his own mind, the things he'd wanted when he'd watched his brother pleasure himself on two hands, obviously needing to get fucked. 

So it was like that. Dad would have an apoplexy if he ever found out. It had become evident years ago that Dean's sex life was the one thing he wouldn't take orders about... Dad would blame Dean if Sam turned out 'promiscuous'. Hunters tended to be rednecks. Being openly gay wouldn't be well-tolerated. Dean got away with more than most under the guise of hustling, although there had been times that the only reason they had food, gas, and ammo for another day had been his dick. And John damned well knew it. He would have to warn Sam before he was much older, to watch himself. 

He was thinking too much. Not to mention, smeared in his own cum. Dean shucked his clothes and stepped into the shower. 

* * *

Slowly, the noise in Sam's ears died down. The first thing he noticed was that the shower was running. Sam's heart skipped a beat, then he sighed with relief at finding the bedroom door still closed. Still, he'd almost been caught...

Squinting his eyes, Sam jolted upright. It wasn't too late to get caught! He hurriedly stashed the mag under the mattress again and fluffed up the pillows. His pajama top was wet with semen, but the creaking floorboards would give him away if he tried to change. Furthermore, he only owned two pairs and the other one was in the laundry bag. All he could do was pull the blanket up to his nose and pretend to be asleep.

* * *

When John Winchester unlocked the door, he heard the shower running. It had to be Dean as Sam was supposed to be asleep at this time of night. He knew that his eldest son was at home because the Impala was parked in front of the building. There was light shining from underneath the bedroom door, and John frowned. Dean always indulged his little brother, and it had to stop.

He opened the door and saw Sam in his bed, blanket pulled up, his face sweaty and his hair messed up. John smiled grimly as he recognized the smell. His youngest was 13 now and turning into a man. It was another thing he'd have to address with Dean. He switched the bedroom light off and returned to the living room, waiting for Dean to finish with his shower.

* * *

If he hadn't just come like a motherfucking freight train from hell, Dean might have tried for round two. Blowing his load took care of the physical need, but that didn't mean that his mind was done freaking out. The water turned cold too soon, though, so he gritted his teeth through a quick shampoo and got out shivering. 

Wrapping a towel around his waist, Dean gathered up his clothes and headed off down the hallway. He hoped that Sam was asleep, either for real or faking, because the thought of talking to him now was as appealing as being hit with a handful of rusty nails. It couldn't end well. 

Halfway to their shared bedroom, where the living room came into view, Dean caught the scent of gunpowder, dried blood, and 'outside'. Their father was back. He must have arrived while Dean was in the shower, or he sure as hell hoped so. Not wanting to face his dad dripping wet and in this state of undress, Dean slipped into the bedroom and quickly threw on a pair of sleep pants and a tee shirt. 

Might as well face the music. Other than news of the hunt, John almost always questioned him on everything from the status of the salt lines to Sam's schooling to whatever research he might have assigned Dean as soon as he got back, and it had seemed to Dean that he was rarely satisfied. 

"Hey, Dad. How did it go?" Dean walked out barefoot and sat across from his father, in a rickety old armchair, pulling his feet up. John had a bottle of something dark amber in his hand and he hoisted the bottle before acknowledging his son. 

* * *

The water in the shower stopped running. John thought he heard steps in the hallway, but nobody entered the living room. Frowning, he got up and pulled his gun. The salt line at the window was unbroken, as was the one at the entrance door. Hesitating only for a second, John stepped outside and felt the Impala's hood. Still warm. So Dean must have come home only a few minutes ago, and it was most likely him in the bathroom. 

John sighed to himself. It was early for Dean, which meant he probably hadn't found a lay. It also very likely meant that Dean was taking care of _things_ in the bathroom. At least, Dean kept his younger brother away from his own promiscuous sex life. 

His gun hand partially obscured by one of the ridiculous cushions on the old couch, John poured himself a good measure of scotch and downed it while waiting for Dean to emerge. He was on his third glass when his oldest son padded into the room.

Dean flopped down in one of the dingy chairs and asked how it had gone. John didn't answer the question. Instead, he narrowed his eyes, immediately suspicious of the seemingly unconcerned smile on Dean's face. 

"Tell me about your brother."

* * *

Yep, it was starting already. John was not what anyone would ever call a happy drunk. He got surly and belligerent, sometimes maudlin, although to date, he didn't get physically violent from drinking. Dean repressed a sigh and thought about how to answer the question in a way that wouldn't piss his dad off.

"Sam? He's fine. Settled into his new school, I guess. He's doing his homework – he always does. Said something about maybe writing for the school paper. Uh... he's been eating right. Keeps up the salt lines when I'm not at home. Practices with the weapons. All the stuff you said." Try though he did, Dean couldn't help a note of petulance in his last phrase. Dad couldn't be bothered to check on Sam himself or ask him simple questions about his everyday life, and here he was, acting like Dean was deficient in taking care of him.

The silence drew out. Dean noticed that John had his handgun out, held so that he wasn't supposed to see. His heart leaped once. His dad has tanned his hide on several occasions for disobedience, but he'd never pulled a weapon on him. What the fuck? Between it being deliberate and John being too drunk to realize what he was doing, Dean didn't know which was worse. He was going to have to be very careful.

* * *

Oh, but wasn't Dean trying to be a good boy! John's hackles were up, sure there was something Dean was hiding from him. His oldest son was always obedient on the surface, but John didn't think that Dean was honest with him, and this was about Sam. There was a reason why John was deeply worried about his youngest, and it wasn't a reason he could confide to Dean.

Sighing, John put his gun on the small table next to the couch. "Writing for the school paper, huh?" It wasn't what he wanted to hear, but as a good father, he should be proud of Sam. If only...

John sighed again. He filled his empty glass and held it out to Dean, keeping the bottle to himself. "Join me? It's time we had a talk between men about your brother."

* * *

The way Dad said it sounded ominous. Dean accepted the glass of bourbon without a word, and tossed it back.

Between men? Well that was new. John had forever treated Dean as a soldier under his command, only as a son when it was convenient, and the 'convenience' came less and less often through the years. The strangest thing about it was, although he trusted Dean to fulfill his orders, however nitpicky he was about it, Dad never seemed to believe a word that came out of his mouth that he couldn't implicitly prove. Dean had learned long ago not to open his mouth in John's presence about anything he wasn't directly asked about. 

So he waited, not talking, while his emotions stewed close to the surface.

* * *

John took another large swig from the bottle, then he leaned over and topped Dean's glass up. Dean's posture betrayed his tension. John reckoned his son was somewhere between alert and alarmed. This was going to be awkward enough already, and John hoped that the drinks would loosen Dean up somewhat. Then again, at 17, Dean could probably hold his liquor as well as wrap the girls around his finger.

"So," John began, determined to keep the upper hand during their talk, "tell me about Sam. And I'm not interested in his grades right now. He's 13, the age to get interested in other things beside school that could distract him from his training. I'm talking mainly about girls; that turned out to become your weakness – together with the car, but at least you're a decent mechanic."

He frowned, not happy about having to admit the latter, but it was true. "So, care to enlighten me about your brother reaching puberty?"

Although John had phrased it as a question, it was clearly an order.

* * *

Dean took another swallow when John refilled his glass. He nearly spit it up again when their dad posed his question. Damn, that shit burned. It stuck in his craw, how his dad turned everything Dean was into a weapon against him. Weakness? Dean hadn't had a relationship in his life – never anything that lasted more than a few days. 

"Well, he's 13. Was going to happen eventually. I was a year younger, remember? No, I haven't seen Sam looking at girls, but then I don't hang around the high school like some creeper, either." 

John glared at him. Dean sighed. "Yeah, I know, okay? I do the laundry; I've seen the signs." This was as much as Dean was going to give his father. Undeniable physical proof. "What about it?"

* * *

_"What about it?"_ John rolled his eyes. "In case you hadn't noticed, your brother doesn't tick the same way you do. He's good at school and a dreamer. Already at his young age, he's in denial about his future." He shook his head.

"Dean, hasn't it occurred to you that Sam is more interested in _learning_ about monsters than actually hunting them? Then, he's always complaining when we have to move, always whining about settling down. At least, when you hook up with a girl, I can rest assured that it won't last longer than a few days, but the way Sam is headed, he'll probably marry the first high school sweetheart he ever has, intent on white picket fences and all that."

John furrowed his brows as his eyes burned into Dean's. "You're responsible for Sam when I'm not here. Remind him that a hunter can't have family ties. His loved ones will only serve to make him vulnerable. Make sure that Sam understands that."

He drank some more and continued. "The bedroom reeks of sex. Since you're so above leaving signs on the sheets, I guess that Sam has figured out how to take care of his needs. Which is just as well," John frowned in disgust. "Having one slut for a son is more than enough."

* * *

Dean blinked. "So what if Sam wants to learn? I just wanted to fight, went in there swinging, machete slashing, guns blazing... How many stitches and broken bones has that bought me? Sam's seen that for years. It follows he'd be more cautious." Dad wasn't going to listen to him, so if what Dean said wasn't going to matter anyway, he might as well air his opinions.

"That's what we are, then... Just something that makes you vulnerable. Huh." Dean should have figured that out long ago. Why hadn't Dad dropped them off at an orphanage the first chance he had? Or let Bobby raise them? Anything. 

"Well what do you want, that we should become monks? Falling in love is unacceptable, being a _slut_ is bad, what the hell do you expect?" He'd have loved to toss in John's face just who took care of Sam's needs, who taught him, but Dean wouldn't – he'd take that to his grave. 

* * *

Suddenly, John felt very tired. He missed Mary and he hated the life he forced his sons to live. Dean shouldn't have to sleep around, but have a steady girl and work as a mechanic. Although his oldest had a good brain, he obviously enjoyed physical action more. Every time another scar was added to Dean's body, John felt guilty as hell, but he couldn't show it. And Sammy shouldn't have to switch schools every few weeks or spend his free time with weapons practice. He should be a happy, unburdened kid who received praise for his good grades and support from his parent.

His single parent. Who was only kept alive by the thought of finding the thing that had killed his beloved. Who had sworn to protect others from what evil that he could hunt. Not for the first time, John mused that it wasn't fair to draw the boys into this life, but he didn't have any illusions about the alternative: if Dean and Sam were not prepared to fight and defend themselves, they would be hunted down and killed by the monsters John hunted, for revenge. As would those Dean and Sam loved, and John couldn't put this on them. Losing Mary had almost killed him, and it was a fate he wanted to spare his sons.

His boys _were_ his weakness, yes, and they made him vulnerable. But what Dean apparently didn't see was that this was all John's fault. 

He opened his mouth, wanting nothing more than to tell Dean how much he loved him and Sammy, but couldn't. If his boys knew this, the yellow-eyed demon would know and that couldn't be. 

Schooling his voice to be harsh, John said, "So I understand that Sam can take care of his own for a few days. Go sleep now. We'll leave early. You're coming with me."

* * *

Wonderful. As in, not wonderful. Dad had been taking Dean on hunts since he was thirteen years old, and other than the one immediately following the hunt on which he'd obtained his first serious injury, Dean had never considered refusing. Had never wanted to. He did now. 

They'd not left Sam alone for _a few days_. One day, overnight, sure. Dean had been left with Sam in his care, sometimes for a week, by the age of nine or 10, but that wasn't the point. Sam... _needed_ him. Dean's insides did a sickening flip. Okay, so maybe Dad didn't get just how right he was about Sam being able to 'take care of his own', and Dean wasn't going to enlighten him and come off as suspicious. Every hunt was a risk, with the possibility of not making it back. Dean hoped Sam woke up before they left, so that he could tell him... He wasn't sure what, exactly. Sleep was not going to come easy. 

Dad didn't answer or even acknowledge the things, the questions, Dean raised. Which meant Dean was right about John's sons being a burden and a weakness to him, but he'd figured it out some while ago, he supposed. If his dad wasn't grilling him any longer, then he shouldn't complain, regardless of how empty and hollow his need for parental affection and validation felt. That card had few stamps. 

"Fine, what time are we leaving? What are we hunting?" 

* * *

"Early. I'll wake you." John didn't miss that Dean wasn't happy, but that was part of the job. "We're going after a Fachan. I'll tell you everything on the road. Make sure your brother knows that we'll be gone for a few days."

Without a further look at Dean, John got up from the couch and faced his bedroom door. As much as he wanted to hug his oldest and let him know how proud he was, he just couldn't do it. If Dean cared more about him than about the hunt, it might cost them their lives during a fight. He wouldn't risk Dean's or Sam's life for his own well-being. If his sons hated him, they'd suffer less when he eventually got killed. Still...

John's voice was gruff when he added a barked, "Good night."

* * *

Huh. 'Good night' instead of 'Get to bed'. For his old man, that was generous.

In his surprise, it took Dean a beat to return the phrase, and his dad had stumbled halfway to his own room by then. 

Dean stood, stretched, and by force of habit, checked the locks and the salt lines before going to bed. The scent of Sam's earlier... activities had dissipated, and Dean noticed that he'd stashed his porn somewhere. That was good. If Dad spotted it, Dean would probably get the blame for corrupting his little brother. He wondered who _had_ supplied Sam with his whack-off material. 

If Dad hadn't been there, Dean would have had his dick in his hand right then. He couldn't seem to stop the mental porn, but he had to. His dad was right, that Dean didn't want him seeing or smelling it on him. Being a hunter meant training all one's perceptions to a higher sensitivity, and John had years on him, there. Hell, he could probably hear through the walls. 

Dean gave his sleeping brother a last look. The kid was out cold, on his back, bare-chested with the blanket pooled around his waist, one arm thrown over his face. The air wasn't that warm in here – Sam's nipples were erect, tiny rosy-brown and perfect. Dean cursed inwardly and pulled Sam's blanket higher, and then he switched off the lamp. 

Short rest or not, it was going to be a long night.

* * *

Sam couldn't say what had woken him up, but he knew for sure that his brother, who'd returned meanwhile, wasn't sleeping. Whereas Sam usually slept like a log, he knew that Dean often spent hours lying awake. Sam honed in on Dean's sounds and he could tell that the soft breaths from the neighboring bed were Dean pretending to sleep while he was wide awake.

"Dean," he whispered. "I know you're awake." OK, now that he had his brother's attention, Sam suddenly wasn't sure what he wanted to say. "Uh, how was your evening?"

* * *

Great. If Dad knew he'd woken Sam from a good night's sleep, accidentally or not, he'd be pissed. His night? Yeah, right. One bump in the road after another, is what it had been. 

Oh, right. Sam must mean his date. They hadn't spoken since Dean had returned.

"Nothing to write home about," Dean whispered. "No luck. Bad case of blueballs." He grimaced in the dark. "Now go back to sleep, Sam."

* * *

Ignoring Dean's instructions to go back to sleep, Sam sat up in his bed. "What's blueballs?"

* * *

Now look what he'd done. Dean hadn't even thought about it before tossing out a phrase he'd become intimately familiar with, thanks to the turbulent nature of women. 

"Sssh, quiet!" he hissed. "Dad's home – don't wake him." Dean tried to think of how to explain the term without going into a lengthy spiel. "It's when, like, you're horny but you don't get to finish. Your balls start to ache, bad." 

* * *

Uh-oh, Dad had returned, and Dean didn't want to wake him. That could mean several things, but it included the unspoken agreement that Dad must never find out how Dean _helped_ Sam take care of his needs. 

Then, the implication of 'blueballs' hit Sam. His brother was in pain because he hadn't gotten off. The small feeling of triumph that Dean hadn't been with a girl was immediately replaced by guilt and – desire. 

"You know, I could..." Sam said and stopped, realizing too late that he'd spoken out loud enough for their father to hear in the adjacent room. Both Winchesters held their breath, but when nothing had stirred for a minute, Sam made his decision. Tonight, he'd touched himself for the first time. It had felt great although Dean's hand on him felt far better. His brother had never asked Sam to reciprocate, but Sam knew it was time to give something back.

He pushed his blankets back and slid into Dean's bed, curling up against his brother and carefully feeling his way down Dean's sleep pants. He could perceive the heat from Dean's erection, but suddenly, Sam hesitated. 

"If your balls ache... I want to make it better... Will you hurt if I... touch you?" Sam bit his lip.

* * *

They were lucky. Sometimes only a whisper would wake their dad, if he was sleeping lightly. He must have passed out immediately, and hard. Dean was still breathing a sigh of relief when Sam crawled into his bed, his angular face eager, keen... There was that look again. To do _that_ with Dad here? Dean couldn't begin to conceive of what their punishment would be. Only, whatever it was, he would take it and Sam's as well. But better if they didn't get caught... So much better. 

Between the feeling of power that rebelling gave him and Sam's body heat and friction, Dean felt his dick jerk and begin to fill with hot blood. His brother squirmed against him, fitting all their limbs into the single bed. Dean let him, though he knew he absolutely should kick Sam out. Whispering against his neck that he wanted to _make it better,_ Sam snaked a hand down inside Dean's pants, but didn't touch him, waiting for permission. 

Dean swallowed his groan and closed his eyes. "Sammy... I already took care of it, when I got home. In the shower." He couldn't lie. "You won't hurt me. Even if I was still all worked up, it feels so fucking good when you finally let it go." He was breathing the words into Sam's hair, one arm pushed under him to hold him, the other diving down to join Sam's inside his sleep pants. "My balls will be fine." He moved Sam's fingers to curl around them. "Please, Sam... Touch them. And then..." 

His hips rocked forward in anticipation. Dean caught the bump of Sam's erection against his thigh. "Someone's up," he whispered. Leaving Sam to do what he would to him, Dean sought out the heat and dampness inside Sam's pajamas. When he wrapped his hand around the hard length, Sam rolled his ass and Dean was suddenly so fucking hard, spewing a string of pre-cum on to Sam's arm. He was getting the same, his hand was wet already, and he played the foreskin up over the head, slowly peeling it back in the way Sam seemed to like best. 

The tentative touches he was getting turned more deliberate. Dean loved having his balls played with but those long, slender fingers closed in a tight grip around him, and he moved, clenching his muscles against the need to thrust till he spewed, into the tightness of it. 

* * *

Touching Dean was... Sam thought his heart would explode. Until now, he'd curled up tightly against his brother when Dean was stroking himself, but he hadn't dared to hope he might one day be allowed to touch Dean. And... not only was he allowed – even invited – to touch, no, Dean took Sam's hand and guided it to his balls, indicating that Sam should wrap his fingers around them.

Dean's balls felt heavy despite his brother telling Sam that he'd just 'taken care of it.' They were larger than Sam's, and covered in downy hair. Sam was growing pubic hair, but it was skimpy compared to his brother's soft curls. Tentatively at first because Dean had said his balls were aching, Sam began to feel their texture, his fingers ghosting over the skin, not sure if the glands contracted because he was hurting them. However, Dean's short gasps sounded like pleasure, not pain, and Sam soon grew bolder, caressing and rolling the now hard stones in the tightening sac.

When Dean's hand found his prick, Sam mewled softly and rolled into the touch, already hardening and a little embarrassed by Dean's comment. Maybe he should tell Dean that he'd... 'taken care of himself,' too? But then Dean stroked his foreskin up and down, and suddenly, Sam couldn't think any longer.

"Nnnuuhh..." Sam tried to muffle his groan against Dean's neck. He was going to shoot in a second but was already too far gone to warn his brother. "Deannnhhhh....!"

* * *

Oh, shit, Sammy was making way too much noise! Their dad...! No, Dean couldn't fault him, because what Sam was doing to Dean's balls, teasing the loose skin and rolling them in his palm till they pulled tight in their sac was making him come apart, and he had to try hard to make no more sounds than harsh gasps. 

He'd already warned Sam, but the boy was beyond being able to control himself. By the way he was trembling, he was going to cum any second, and Sam had already proved he wasn't the silent type. Somehow, Dean needed to shut him up. Squeezing hard around the base of Sam's cock didn't help. Frantic, Dean wiggled southward and pinned Sam's shoulders down. Taking one second to look into the sharp, sweaty, ecstatic face, Dean leaned down and brought his lips firmly across Sam's. 

If he'd thought Sam's scent was a turn-on, that was nothing compared to the taste and feel of his mouth. Fuck! Better than candy, better than good whiskey, all Sam. Everything in Dean surged; he wanted deep into Sam, in any way he could get. Those soft lips opened for him, and Dean licked at them, then locked their mouths together again. 

* * *

Helpless and unable to hold back, Sam thrust once more into Dean's hand and opened his mouth to let out a cry of completion when Dean's rhythm suddenly faltered. Hovering on the brink of this most incredible feeling, Sam had no idea what was happening; why had Dean stopped? 

Suddenly, his upper body was pinned down. Sam's hand slipped on Dean's balls, and then his brother's mouth was on his, a gentle yet determined tongue demanded entrance...

Sam's world exploded in liquid fire. His hips bucked and spasmed, utterly out of control, while he clenched his eyes shut and moaned deeply into Dean's mouth. 

"Mnnnaaaahhh... Deannnnuuuhhh..."

* * *

The urgent sounds that Sam made as he filled Dean's hand with warm cream, muffled though they were, went right to the base of Dean's spine. At his peak, Sam arched his back, nearly dislodging Dean, whose cock was happily spitting out more drops of pre-cum over the display of his brother's strength. Musky and ripe, the thick scent of semen tainted the air around them. So much for hiding the evidence.

Dean slid his tongue through their sealed lips, in search of Sam's. At the moment, he was probably too far gone to respond but Dean wanted it anyway, to control their silent communication this way. White splatters lay mostly upon Sam's belly, as Dean had tilted his wrist to keep his pants out of the way when he shot. Glancing down, Dean's salivary glands tingled – he wanted to taste. Those weren't the only glands tingling.

Tremors ran through Dean in no predictable timing; his hips took on their own life as he humped against Sam's side. Panting irregularly through flared nostrils, Dean _took_ Sam with his mouth. "So good, Sammy," Dean breathed. "Please, put your hands on me... anywhere." Watching Sam blow his load made him desperate to do the same. 

* * *

Sam was feeling dizzy, as always when Dean had given him his hand, but this time it was even more intense. The kiss... Sam had never been kissed before, and it had brought him so much closer to Dean... 

...and Dean was continuing to kiss him, claiming his mouth with his tongue, just like he would a woman – with his prick. And then...

Sam gasped. He wouldn't be able to get it up for a few minutes, but the need in Dean's voice still made his empty balls tighten regardless. Dean begging him to put his hands on him was...

"Yes, yes!" Sam whispered into Dean's mouth. His sibling was lying half-way on top of him, and Sam had to wiggle a bit before he could bring his hand close to Dean's groin. Dean lifted his hip to grant better access, and then Sam's breathing hitched along with Dean's when he felt the fullness of his brother's erection. It felt warm, hot even, and _alive_ , jumping in Sam's hand as if it had its own will.

Sam's hands were almost as large as Dean's, but he had the impression that he could barely close his fingers around the thick shaft. He tried a stroke and was rewarded with a deep groan into his mouth. Sam gripped tighter, and that alone made Dean's hips push against him. A feeling of power washed through him that he could bring Dean such pleasure that he moaned and thrust into Sam's hand.

Dean didn't have foreskin. That and the size of him gave it a totally different feel than stroking himself earlier. Sam was a little nervous about not getting it right. He wanted this to be perfect for Dean, as perfect as Dean always made it for Sam. His brother's moans and grunts soon convinced him that he couldn't be too wrong. 

His dick twitched and his hole fluttered as Sam picked up speed and whispered into the mouth against his, "Want you to cum, Dean!"

* * *

Oh fuck! The sensations that shook Dean's body when Sam slid his hand down to his groin were the beginning of the end. Every time they'd done stuff before, a handful of times, Dean had brought Sam off, then himself while Sam huddled against him and watched attentively. Tonight, things had changed. Not only had Sam touched himself, _stroked_ himself, all the way to completion, but Dean had secretly watched him twisting and pulling, fingering himself and moaning Dean's name when he came. And now, Sam reached out to him, to touch him for the first time. He lifted up, and Sam's fist closed around him, and that was it. History rewritten. 

Dean's body couldn't figure out if it wanted to arch or hunch but it sure as hell wanted to cum... NOW. No control left, Dean pushed into Sammy's grip, which didn't let up, only closed around his raging cock tighter... So fucking good! He held his eyes open, staring into Sam's which were slitted and dark, kissing him as if it was his only salvation. "Gonna... G-g-onna..." he stuttered, hips gone spastic in the last instant. 

The pressure in his balls boiled over and exploded into white light: white juice poured from the depths of him, not just his balls but inside somewhere, too, like something was ripped from him. It didn't hurt, beyond the intensity of the pleasure. Whatever it was, Dean had never felt it before. He clenched every muscle and bore down, the silvery aftershocks evasive. But his seed was not elusive, it was everywhere – Dean moaned into Sam's mouth as he came and came, hips jerking as he coated them both. 

Their room must stink like a whorehouse by now, was Dean's first semi-coherent thought. He came to, still half on top of Sam, their combined spunk cooling between them. It couldn't have been long, as they were both panting hard, shaky. "That was..." Dean almost said awesome but decided on amazing, remembering to whisper. "It's better when it's someone else's hand." 

The next revelation hit him so hard, if he had been less balanced he'd have rolled off the bed. _...better when it's someone you love._ He didn't say it out loud, though. Sam was only 13. He had no experience. Hell, he'd only reached puberty recently. Dean couldn't possibly risk scarring him for life with this and tying him to his deviant slut of an older brother. Sam deserved better. Maybe the white picket fence life their father was so derisive of wasn't in the cards for the Winchesters, but Sam should have every opportunity to experience life and love without Dean's interference, when he was ready. 

Still, he couldn't stop. Dean kissed Sam deep, one last time, then his shoulder. "Love you, Sammy." He hoped, even in a whisper, that his 'tone' conveyed lightness. The enormity of it was his to bear.

* * *

Dean was shaking in his arms, and Sam was sure he'd never felt so elated before. He couldn't put it into words; all he knew was that he never wanted to let go of his brother's body again. When Dean told him that it was always better with someone else's hand, he nodded. It was as if Dean had only scratched the surface by saying so, but Sam had a feeling that what Dean had really wanted to say was so enormous that he hadn't dared. He nodded again, smiling when his nose rubbed against Dean's. He understood his brother without words.

And then Dean said the words nevertheless. Sam shivered and pressed closer to Dean. 

"Me, too..."


End file.
